Kahuna Hash July 23,2012


East Meets West

An Exotic Run in the International City of Beaverton

Granny Panties reappeared from whatever he has been doing the last few years to hare a lively jaunt through the neighborhoods of Beaverton. We realized later that he was reliving his house-hunting experience through the hash, and we were hashing through all the neighborhoods he had tried to get into; we beer checked at his new house with his hot girlfriend.

Lots of dogs on trail. Mr. Cream Jeans' Penny got into it with a fluffy cute thing owned by newly named Tits Up. Burning Feeling had her two. Cums Prepared ran with one of his stately poodles, hither and yon, looking for trash cans for poop disposal.

In the circle, Fisher of Men, a new transplant from Georgia (not the Atlanta Georgia but the real Russia Georgia, you dimwits), was welcomed and cheerfully embraced by Burning Feeling who is also Russian or maybe Iranian or maybe Armenian. Pabst Smear shared his extensive knowledge of foreign affairs by bumbling through Euro-Asian geography and we sang "pissonya" as her down-down song.

Having been underwhelmed by our chips and beer last week, no-longer-virgin Liz brought deli sandwiches for all. With Granny Panties fried chicken, we feasted like Hawaiians.

Kahuna hash 327 July 16, 2012




O Sets Trail of the Year

Or

Maybe He's Really Losing It



"This is an absolute debacle. The last time it was this bad was last week in North Portland," Pabst Smear. "Come on, Brady and Nathan, yell on-on when you see flour-little white dots, well, there are supposed to be little white dots..." Gymnasty. "I don't know what you're talking about...this was an absolute GENUIS of a trail," O.

We should have known that many missteps would await us when O started talking about BEER FALSE TRAILS. Being the orator that he is, O convinced the pack that it is perfectly acceptable hashing to run a trail to a beer check only to find that it is a false trail and we must retrace our steps all the way back to the start, which we did, with very little whining (at this point). Hey, we had beer.

The second time we found a beer false trail check, after walking through grass higher than Mystery Meat's head (head who said head, I'll take none of that) and dodging golf balls from the driving range, we began to question the sanity of our hare. Does he really know what he's doing? Should Milk Bone have assisted the old fart and thus avoided this debacle? Who knew.

After the second beer false trail check, we were totally confused, running around the Home Depot parking lot for the third time. Someone shouted "on-on" and we crossed Washington Street to find a lovely little pond with a big huge CHECK next to it. We ran right; we ran left; we ran in circles; we crossed the street, ran up the hills, jogged along railroad tracks, back and forth among the street construction guys. No further trail. None Nada. HE REALLY SCREWED THIS ONE UP, we thought to ourselves. Then we began saying it out loud. We planned many down downs for this hare.

Although we hated the thought of defeat, we meagerly trudged back to our parked cars when Mud Butt was heard on his cell phone, "yeah, we tried that....over by the pond...what? the water sanitation plant? oh, ok..." He started running a way we had tried earlier, and we followed in our half-mind way. Amazing. A mark appeared, a half mile from the last check or arrow or dollop, but it was there, and we followed over the freeway, through the fields, to a perfectly lovely on-home on the side of some gravel road, with PBRs and Dos Equis aplenty.

Virgin Liz was honored, visitors from Vegas and Montana were properly maligned and harassed. O denied any mistakes and vehemently defended his trail. The night could be summed up by this:

"Why spend money for beer at a bar when there's beer here in the cooler and good company to keep?"

And there was good company and shitty beer for all.

Kahuna 326 Tina Turnover Perspective
Third in the Decum Trilogy
Hare Cherry Picker
Wherein The Kahuna Gets In A Pickle


Earlier today, something like the following conversation took place between me and Hot Buns (via text message):

“Are you going to the Kahuna tonight?”

“I don’t know, are you?”

“Maybe, I was trying to decide.”

“If I go, will you go?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

And I don’t know whether bears shit in the woods, but I do know that they will go for a tasty looking fruit basket, or Scrotum Rotor, when they happen to mistake him for a fruit basket, an easy mistake to make really, I’ve done it many times myself, so you can hardly blame the bear. At any rate, I arrived at the now very familiar intersection of Dekum and about five other streets to a very warm reception which, I soon learned, had nothing to do with my sparkling personality and everything to do with my reproductive organs because – excepting the hare – I was the only one there with a uterus. Those can really come in handy when lost on trail . . . or not, as the case may be.

Off we went, following the flour like a good little pack: on one, on two, hmmm, a bright pink chalk X, guess that is probably a check, on one, on two . . . . RU? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . hmmm, back to the check. Nothing down this street, nothing down that one. Try again? Nope, nothing. So there we were, two blocks from the start and as clusterfucked as a Wal Mart on Black Friday. Somehow we made it to another check (I’m still not sure how that happened) and it seemed that we might make a trail of this yet. It was still a bit touch and go – was that a false or an arrow? – when all of a sudden, the pack stopped ahead of me and got very quiet. A hare had been spotted. Chubby Chaser stealthily darted over and caught her, whereupon I imagine that he propositioned her for kinky sex, and, upon being emphatically declined, rebounded and at least managed to make her feel so guilty about her trail that she volunteered to lead us to the beer check. We readily assented, only to discover that she couldn’t actually remember where her trail had gone. So there we were, following the hare, lost on her own trail. Now really. Since following the hare didn’t seem to be helping much and since I had the slight advantage of being on two wheels, I ended up ahead of the pack and somewhere around Concordia, just when I feared I might be lost again, I looked to my left and lo-and-behold there was a bright green BC. Jackpot. Several minutes of beer-sitting later, I heard some noise off to the left and looked over to find Cherry Picker and a few of the wankers doing cartwheels on the lawn. “Uh, hey guys,” I yelled, “BEER, over here!”

The way back was a fair bit quicker, Cherry Picker was practically giddy at finding her own trail – “where did I lay a . . . oh, there, on two! See that guys? That’s on two!” With relatively little trouble (and a disappointing lack of scrap metal sightings for Cream Jeans) we made our way back to Cherry Picker’s delightful bungalow where she placated what remained of the group (I guess we lost a few people on trail) with more beer and popscicles and a sprinkler to run through – because who doesn’t like to get wet and suck on a tasty column of sweet frozen goodness? Chubby, in an expansionist move, assumed RA duties and led us through a Kahuna-ish religion. The highlight of the latter – it’s not hard to be the highlight of a Kahuna religion, but this was truly a gem - was when our hare presented our plucky visitor from Florida with her prize find from a free box passed while scouting trail (wait, she scouted this trail?!): Tickle His Pickle: Your Hands-On Guide to Penis Pleasing (ladies, there are two used copies available at the main Powells location on Burnside, act fast). And with that, we swung low, went in peace, and got a piece . . . or maybe a pickle.

Tale of Two Shitties

Two Seperate Hashes at One Place in Two Weeks

"It was the best of trails, it was the worst of trails; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of drunkenness; it was the epoch of disbelief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was not the season of Bud-Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the end of  the spring of hope, it was the downdown of despair; we had true trail before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to the OnIn, we were all going the other way."

Charles Dickens was a Hasher
Both Hashes started at Breakside Brewery, 820 NE Dekum Street, 97211.

323 - Barnacle Box -Strap on Lad -This was the Tumbleweed hash. What started out as a smallish pack, slowly and surely picked up hashers along the way. Cherry Picker was found while drinking forties under a railroad bridge. Scrotum Roter (see photo), joined the masses after a knock on his door,  (Much like the TV show Three's company) and Pussy LePew just stumbled into the pack completely by accident. Also Rear Entry and DoubleMint Cum hosted an imprompteu beer check in their back yard.

The trail was easy pickings for the intellegent masses. Trail was well marked almost bordering on easy.  This was truly hashing for idiots and this band of idiots mastered it with grace and beauty.

Then we hashed the following week in the same exact place with different results. The hash went kind of like this.  If this is hard to read it supposed to be.

324 - Rear Entry and DoubleMintCum

The Trail
CheckLookForFlourStandAroundWhileOthers
LookForTrailRunTheTrailBackWordsForAwhileOh
UpThereAreTheHaresInTheirCarsSearchOnRailRoad
StonyTracksWeKnowWhereTheyLiveOhThereIsSome
TinyFlourBoyThisIsFuc*edUpWhatsThatMarkMean
EatMeMiller64ChampagneMiller64ChampagneMiller64
RedNosedRoofieBitchedBlackCloudsForming


FlamingFartRanOneBlockLostAgainRunningBackWards
UpTheRavineCrossingSuperHighWaysTheresAWhoreHouse
ChecksFromthePastWalkingWalkingWalkingWalkingWalking
KnowingGoodFoodAndBeerAwaits

OnIn

Off the charts with great and ample food.  A nice visit from brothers from the North that being Chester ClusterF*ck and DeepThroat.

Chester on missing trail do to a broken ankle. "I am glad those two set such a FusterCluck. It makes me be proud to be whom I am.  Roofie the Red Nosed Bimbo led religion and it didn't seem like her first time at all.

I have no idea who drank the Miller64s.

Deeks Perspective

Damn if they didn't say this was hash dog unfriendly. F%%k you hares who post that. Everyhash is dog friendly. WOOF WOOF

It is a dogs life.  Damn if on almost given week I have to go to the hash with My Master "Crack Up" and run with  these half minded hashers. I can find true trail faster than those hasher's can. I can also remember better than most hashers, so thats why Big asked me to write the hash trash this week. I am a big black lab with a collective mind smarter than all of the hash. So I admit I did type this hash trash. I stole Crack Up's laptop. My  Big Black paws barely work on modern keyboards. Still, some of this is true. At least the mudpuddle at the end. Roof Roof Roof.

My sensitive nose picked up the scent of beer on Rubik's Pube and that Banana guy. They had to be 3 to 4 beers in at the start. I led my owner over to a glistening tunnel by that big mall thing. Whatever humans use those mall things for is beyond me. The tunnel smelled like piss and wino farts. Then this human guy named Flaming Fart ran where the trail went but ignored the obvious flour marks as the pack aimlessly roamed around. BARK BARK BARK

Hell some artsy fartsy poodle whom seems far smarter than me led everybody to a check on the railroad tracks. I hate running on the tracks as those stones get stuck in my pawpads. I led a group of half minds to the beer check as the hot poodle and a crazy husky ran slobering down the train tracks. YAP YAP YAP

Human hashers are wierd as they just stand around and drink out of red white and blue dog dishes.  Some new bimbo (I call them bitches) named F**k Ewe Dad joined the group. She smelled sweet like the rest of the hashers I smell every week.  What an intersting hash name. Some where along the line we lost one of the humans. If Self Service had a snoot like mine she would have found trail just fine. At least they should keep her on a leash. HOWL

Those humans they call hashers then drank more beer from red, white and blue dog bowls. This hash smelled good and it tasted good and there was a killer mud puddle at the end. It sure looked like those half minded humans had fun also.

WOOF

On On

Deek

Kahuna 306 Cant Finish

I have not written up a kahuna hash in a while. Over the last couple weeks there have been some great ones and some quirky runs but last night was as quirky as can be. And that is good thing.

The Hungry Tiger 2 is a classic vegan dive bar and for a weird wrinkle in the jet stream I had never been there. I will go back soon.


Pabst Smear indicated this would have a Canadian theme due to Soft Wood visiting from that big Country that sits on top of us. Cant Finish did not miss a beat.

The trail was pretty much a pavement pounder that included a False Beer Near. Can't Finish laid a BN in the cemetery and there was no beer near thus the term False Beer check. We found limp valentine balloons on a gravestone and many dead ends. (Sorry for the dreadful pun)The beer only appeared another mile away in Laurelhurst Park. We took a long time drinking 24 ounce cans of Genesee. Boy they tasted good. it was the first time I met Banana something and boy does he have some stories to tell. Two Buck F*ck (classic hash name) encouraged us to drink more.

Kahuna has never been the crazy party hash but the mood tonight was classic. The second beer check was another false of sorts as it had no beer. Keeping with the theme there was a massive bottle of Canadian Mist. (Dammit my uncle Bobby used to drink that stuff like crazy and he is no longer with us) but I believe we finished that off also. Two beer checks at a Kahuna is a splendid rarity. Touche. I blame Buster Hyman for that.


Village idiot made a bald faced entrance back into hashing and he encourage many of us to drink more than we usually do. Rubbing his chrome dome seemed to make everybody feel good.


We literally stumbled back to the CantFinish Lair. He had food for everybody and once again the beer flowed freely as we were back to socialized drinking with long lines for health care. We corralled Soft Wood to do religion and "Aye" he pulled it off perfectly.


Kudos to Cant Finish for a classic FusterCluck on Feist's birthday.

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